


Flow

by RogueKynd



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood As Lube, Bloodplay, Dark, Knifeplay, Laceration, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Violence, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, somewhat dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 15:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12560884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueKynd/pseuds/RogueKynd
Summary: Stefano needs inspiration. He consults his favorite muse.





	Flow

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a fanwork and I claim no ownership of the characters or the original source material.  
>  **Notes:** Saw a particular gifset and got inspired. Do not read if you are susceptible to any of the warnings listed.
> 
> Beta read by my good buddy [JG/MasallCollegeUnderstudy](http://masallcollegeunderstudy.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> _Can also be read on[tumblr](http://roguekynd.tumblr.com/post/166940353389/flow). _

Stefano found him in one of the rooms of the mansion that had yet to be decorated with any of what the Italian deemed to be his 'art'. Small compared to others with only a single table occupying it, but its simplicity was what made it comforting, compared to the over saturation of the grotesque plaguing this place. It was also one of the few rooms Joseph could go in without feeling like he's being watched. Or at least pretend without those pictures of wide, fearful eyes belonging to countless dead bodies adorning every wall goggling him wherever he went.

 

Joseph had been lost in thought when he heard the door open, heart sinking at seeing who had entered. Though Stefano was of slight built -only an inch taller- and shouldn't be much of a threat to a highly trained officer, his great power and control over this mansion left the young detective helpless to defend against him.

 

Inquiring briskly what he wanted, Stefano simply answered he came for inspiration. Of course, Joseph knew what that meant, staring coldly at the other man whose lips were curved upwards into a smirk.

 

"Well, shall we, Joseph?"

 

"Not here."

 

"Oh?" Stefano tilted his head to the side, fringes of dark hair falling to uncover part of his scarred eye. "Why not?"

 

The shorter averted his gaze elsewhere. "Because..." He didn't want to say exactly why, afraid it would embolden him.

 

The artist's smirk twisted into something more sinister, as if figuring it out regardless. "I think here is just fine," he stated darkly, moving towards him.

 

Fear gripped him immediately. Joseph wanted to shout at him to back off. He wanted to grab his gun and put a bullet between the sociopath's cruel eyes.

 

Instead, he offers little resistance as Stefano roughly turns him around and bends him over the table. Pressing his crotch against his rear, Joseph could feel Stefano was already getting hard, excited over what he was about to do.

 

One hand pushed down on his back to keep him pinned, the other winding around his waist to unzip his fly. Joseph clenched his hands, trembling as Stefano yanked his jeans down to his knees, then stood straight again, returning his hand to his back. Judging from the slight shuffling behind him, he deduced that the artist was doing the same for himself.

 

The movement stopped a moment, and then a shiver went down his spine as he felt cool, sharp metal grazing the skin of his thigh. It was the knife Stefano was so fond of using.

 

He heard him chuckle. "Whoops. It seems I've forgotten the lubricant again," he said.

 

"Then maybe you should go _acquire_ some first," Joseph retorted, venom in his tone.

 

"No need. I've an alternative."

 

Before it dawned on Joseph, a scream tore out of him. The blade cut into fair, sensitive skin, forming a deep, contrasting red line trailing upwards to his left cheek. The shorter male grinded his teeth against the awful pain, barely suppressing another scream as Stefano then traced the bleeding wound to where it was most hollow and probed inside with a bare finger. Coating it with warm, crimson liquid as it wiggled within the confined layers of cleaved flesh.

 

Tears gathered in his eyes, punching the table as he cursed the artist. Stefano played under his skin a little longer, intentionally drawing this out until the blood pooling from the wound dripped down his leg. The Italian extracted his finger, wiping most of it up on his hand.

 

"Perhaps not the gentlest way, but it will have to do." Nudging Joseph's feet further apart with his foot, he brings his hand up to the cleft of his ass and pulls it aside, revealing his most private area. Using his pointer and middle finger, Stefano spreads, closes, and rubs the yielding ring of muscle in various ways, aggressively teasing it. The sounds of discomfort mixed with pleasure the young detective makes serve to excel the mad artist's excitement. Once satisfied with his finger painting around his entrance, Stefano pushed one slender digit inside.

 

It hurts like utter hell. Joseph clawed brutally at the creamy brown table's smooth surface, leaving marks as cries of agony echoed throughout the whole room. Instinctively, his body tries jerking away, but the pressure the Italian killer has on him coupled by the table fixed to the floor kept him trapped literally between a rock and a hard place. Stefano enjoyed observing his reactions, watching him writhe as he thrusts his finger in and out, burying it to the knuckle, almost similar to how he'd toyed with the injury he had inflicted.

 

The middle finger soon joins, and Stefano needed to press down on Joseph harder to keep him over the table. His body continued to resist him, but Stefano carried on without any concern.

 

Joseph's moans were that of suffering with hardly much pleasure as the artist's fingers scissored and violated him. The blood was all but helpful to ease any of the pain, not even close to being sufficient as a lubricant. Finally, Stefano withdrew his fingers and took hold of small hips.

 

Joseph dreaded what was coming next. Shutting his eyes tight, he braced himself for the inevitable. All too soon, he felt the tip of Stefano's cock at his hole, gritting his teeth as he forced his way in. He could tell Stefano hadn't bothered to lube up, instead using the blood that was already there to slide in.

 

Reaching the midway point, Joseph's fingernails cut into his palms, drawing more blood that spilled out onto the table. And then, with one merciless shove, he'd made it all the way inside, stopping only a minute to allow Joseph's walls to expand just enough before he started moving.

 

Stefano rocked against him, his balls slapping his ass with each thrust. Joseph bit down on his wrist, moaning around it. Trying to fight the traumatic waves of being ruthlessly slammed into again and again. His inner walls tearing around the artist's cock.

 

He's certain he's bleeding internally, in addition to the rest of the injuries made to his person this evening. This seemed to be exactly what Stefano wanted, his panting that of a crazed animal, no doubt aroused by the sight before him as he arched his hips with reckless abandon.

 

Without warning, his cock is grasped and squeezed, trying to get him to come. Joseph hadn't even acknowledged his own arousal through the torture, tearing through skin with his teeth. He'd be dealing with a lot of injuries tonight...

 

He ejaculates prematurely, causing his tight, damaged muscles to clamp down on Stefano's cock. The artist bucks against him, swearing in Italian as he pushes in further than he should be able and defiles him.

 

The sensation of his warm seed repulses Joseph. Stefano is hunched over him, hot breath ghosting against his ear, murmuring something unintelligible softly. He couldn't tell if it was English or Italian, and he frankly didn't care. All he wanted now was for the artist, who hopefully got his damn 'inspiration', to get off and out of him.

 

However, Stefano takes his time. Though softened, he still remains inside Joseph. He raises his right hand and pets black strands adoringly.

 

"Wonderful," he moaned, his breathing returning to normal. "I knew you would lift me from my slump."

 

Joseph twisted his head, meeting the artist's sadistic grin as he combed his hair with his fingers, going so far as to plant a kiss. Disgusted, Joseph bent his arm to elbow him off. Predicting it, Stefano caught his wrist effortlessly and held his arm behind his back.

 

"Oh, cucciolo. Even now you resist me?" he purred mock affectionately.

 

 _'Dammit...'_ Wincing as he twisted his arm, Joseph chastised himself. He knew better than to fight back. Doing so just added fuel to the fire. That's ultimately why he'd decided a while ago to just submit to his will whenever he did what he wanted. It made things less painful that way.

 

Releasing his arm, the Italian got off of Joseph, producing a handkerchief to clean up and make himself presentable again. "I'll have a bath prepared for you. However, you will not be receiving any new clothes. I have something in mind for you later."

 

Joseph didn't reply. It wouldn't be the first time Stefano denied him clothing, though it terrified him to wonder about what 'something in mind for later' entailed. Using the table for support, he staggered somewhat from the burning he felt from his wounds. Particularly from his rear-end and the laceration on his leg. He ignored the sticky essence mixed with his blood leaking out.

 

Suddenly, he’s turned around, Stefano taking him forcefully by the chin to meet his eyes. That cold, enigmatic smirk he always wore was in place, and his demonic right eye glowed brightly through his fringe, nearly blinding him.

 

"You still have vigor left in you, despite telling yourself you've given up. Good. The longer you have it, the more you inspire me." He leans in and brushes his lips over his, mimicking that of a lover. "You are, truly, my most valued muse."

 

Joseph had to stay his hands from shoving Stefano away, or punching him in the face. He took a deep breath to remain calm, pushing all thoughts of retaliation to the back of his mind. For now.

 

The Italian killer pulls back, leering at him with a sick fascination that made the Asian male want to puke. At last, he makes his exit, leaving Joseph by his lonesome.

 

Succumbing to fatigue, he sinks down to the zigzag-patterned floor, hurt, sore, and forlorn. Languidly, he pulls on his his pants, getting them back up to salvage what dignity he had left, the cloth sticking painfully to the wound on his leg. Bringing his knees to his chest, he wonders just how much longer he could endure this. Stefano said he still had some fight in him, and maybe he did, but how much more could he really tolerate?

 

Taking off his glasses, he wiped the tears glistening in his eyes, shaking as broken giggles disturbed the silence of what used to be a soothing place. Only the wide, fearful eyes of the dead appearing on the walls here to bear witness.


End file.
